


The Deal

by cococape



Series: Legerdemain AU [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Gen, Gods, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27980649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cococape/pseuds/cococape
Summary: “Technoblade's origin is a myth, a fairytale. No one believes it happened because his history was wiped from all of time.”
Series: Legerdemain AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017382
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	The Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Potential TW: Blood and slight horror monster description.

Overhead, he heard cannons fire. Gunshots rang off of the walls around him.

 _“You mustn't leave, your highness.”_ His guards had told him. _“You must understand.”_

And he did. As the eldest prince and next in line to the throne, he was a liability in battle. And despite his position and the expectations set out for him, his heart was weak. He was too self-sacrificing. When he watched farmers tend to their fields, he felt the temptation to empty the royal coffers for them. When he went on hunts with the sons of his father’s allies, he couldn’t help but shut his eyes when he heard the whistle of an arrow, the horrifying thud as it hit its mark.

If they lost this battle, everyone knew that he would allow himself to be taken hostage if it meant that his kingdom would survive. If they lost the kingdom, he would ask for his life to be traded if it would spare the life of another.

For that, he knew his mother loved him as the son she always wanted.

For that, he knew his father hated him as the weakling unfit to rule.

 _“When it’s safe, we’ll come back to relocate you to a better location.”_ They had promised.

And if they didn’t come back?

_“You must pray to all the gods that we do.”_

They had left at sunset. Now, a blood curdling scream woke him in a cold sweat as the moon reached its peak.

His guards are yet to return.

An explosion rocked the castle walls, causing him to flinch as he thought about his family. The stone brick walls began to crumble, threatened to come apart.

Shakily, the prince stood, bracing himself in the event his strength failed him. And yet despite how boneless his body felt, his legs supported his weight as he slowly made his way to the window.

 _“To the gate!”_ He heard his enemies cry.

 _“For the king!”_ He heard his army scream in response.

He looked away, but the image of wounded horses and dead soldiers had already burned itself into his imagination. His heart ached for them, the men. The closest he’s ever had to friends. Boys young and old. Boys enlisted and drafted. Pure and innocents as well as prior criminals alike. Boys that he checked up on as they ate their lunches, whom he’d had conversations with—

 _“For the prince!”_ He heard in the distance — or maybe he imagined it — and his guilt bore a hole in his chest as the castle shook again with the screams of the damned. The cries for mercy from his men.

A loud crash made him flinch, made him fall onto the ground in terror, scuttling back to the safety of his bed. But in the light of the moon, he could just barely make out the outline of his bookshelf, cracked and leaning on the wall opposite, letting the books slide onto a pile on the ground.

He watched them, a small sense of panic entering him as leather-bound pages began to fall.

 _Thud._ A textbook on war and strategies brings him memories of his tutor. He wonders if she’s still alive.

 _Thud._ A box of letters from his brother when he studied overseas. The prince stares at them, the memories tumbling into the foreground.

 _Thud._ A massive book fell open onto the box with an awful crunch. A sound so loud and awful it elected a quiet sob out of the boy, more than the gunfire and sword fights ever could.

Something overcame the prince then — whether it be fear or desperation, he was still left unsure — Something that made him pull the book out of the wreckage, watching the ripped and crumpled letters get dragged behind it.

It was a fairytale. Nothing too complicated, about princes and kings, about monsters that lurked in the dark. The defeat of the monster, and the cheers of the people, welcoming their new king home. Providing their affection. Proving his power.

By the time the third cannon was fired, the prince made up his mind. He took his cloak off, and set it down in an open space in his room. His hands smoothed the creases of the red velvet to the sound of the bloodshed of his men. He took his crown, put it to his lips with a child’s dying scream, before laying it carefully on top of the cloak.

He sat on his knees, listening to the cries for help.

His eyes closed. His mouth moved. Repeated the prayer over and over again.

_“Any god out in the night, lend a king your strength. I give myself to thee, if thou may provide your power to me.”_

Over and over again, the words repeated. The sound blurring and connecting until they didn’t feel real, until they were said for the sake of saying something. Until they became a mantra. Until it became a spell.

Until the prince realized his words had become something else, a new prayer that he didn’t recognize, words flowing from his mouth unstoppable, uncontrolled.

_“I seek for the gods of the dark. I seek for anything that can save them, even if it would cause the damnation of me.”_

A creak from his locked door shocked him out of his words. His hands trembled, as he gripped the fairytale like a lifeline in his arms. It sounded like no man, the thing that breathed down the ebony wood, the thing that turned the golden knob as easily as if it were hollow plastic.

As the door opened, the room filled with the smell of death.

Not death, the prince conceded. Death was the smell of rot, of an end, of a finality of life. This was… The makeup. The ingredients. The secrets that alchemists would kill to obtain. It was not life. It was not death either. It was the thing in between.

It was blood.

The thing that entered the prince’s room was in the shape of a man. His skin was pale and limp, and his face gaunt and hollow. Despite that, it walked in with the strength of a trained soldier. Or perhaps more than that. It walked with the strength of a soldier who’s fought in wars spanning thousands of years.

 _“Who dares call for me?”_ It asked, and despite its appearance, its voice was kind. The sound friendly, yet menacing. A voice of a mentor, who knows his position above all. The thing’s eyes landed on the prince, which was when he realized that the thing didn’t have eyes at all. Or, if it did, they only glowed an ominous crimson red.

The thing took a step towards the boy curiously, and the boy flinched back.

 _“A prince.”_ It said with a light chuckle. _“In this climate, I expected a king.”_

In the light of the battle, the prince realized why the man looked so wrong. His entire body was being drained of blood, not onto the ground, but as if into the air. Like a demon clinging onto its back was devouring it from the inside.

 _“I am the eldest son.”_ He replied, trying not to let the disturbance bother him. _“Is that not enough?”_

 _“A son has more to gain than his father.”_ The god mused. _“But it means he has more to lose.”_

 _“I am offering you my crown.”_ He said, quickly, picking it up from the ground, but the god only laughed, and waved it away.

_“Your riches mean naught to me, and you are a fool for thinking so. However...”_

The god suddenly leaned in close, an inch from his face, quick enough that the prince had no time to react. His breath smelled sickly sweet. His teeth were stained pink.

 _“The boy king is a coward!”_ it laughed. _“Of course! Your cowardiance is worth more than any wealth or position you can ever offer me.”_

The prince could feel his heart thudding rapidly, like it would kick his chest open and flee, leaving him to die. He swallowed.

_“Would my bravery give way into providing myself as your hero?”_

The god cackled. Laughed as if they were good friends over a bar.

 _“I am not a god of your tales, boy!”_ It cried, and the booming sound over the fields were like thunder and lightning to go with its words. _“I have no need for a champion, certainly not as weak as you. No."_

It leaned in close, close enough that the prince could taste the metal floating in the air.

_“The thing I am in need of most is a sacrifice.”_

The prince froze.

_“The thing I need most is the blood of cowards. A taste so wonderful and cleansing of the palette, I think.”_

_“I can’t offer that to you.”_ His fear made him deadpan.

 _“Because a sacrifice is not an honourable way to go?”_ It frowned, and inhaled the air, sweat mixing with emotions, with screams. The highs, the lows. The heavy stench from the battlefield.

 _“No…”_ It smiled humorously. _“It is your fear of a meaningless end. As is proper for a man whose bloodline is nothing but.”_

 _“I want to know my kingdom is safe forevermore.”_ His voice was hard and defensive, but his body was cold. _“My death would naught but guarantee it.”_

 _“My word is my word.”_ The god replied, mock hurt. _“However, if that is the case, I can offer you another deal.”_

It stepped away, and for the first time, the prince looked up at it and saw... power.

 _“Sacrifice the blood of others in exchange for your life, and I will lend you my strength.”_ Its voice seemed to boom and echo in his head, even years later.

_“Sacrifice yourself as my vessel, and I will complete any desires you wish for.”_

His body trembled. His fingers tightened around his crown, as the final cannon shot rang through the castle, as the gates splintered and shattered underneath him, bringing death into his home. The ground lurched beneath him, though the god was unfazed, the prince had to use his arm to support himself.

They both knew there was an ultimatum. And they both knew which one the prince would choose.

_“Deal.”_

It was barely a whisper, but it was enough.

The last thing the prince saw was the god’s eerie smile, the body it had suddenly falling like a sack onto the ground.

The last thing he felt was agony.

The last thing he heard was his own screams as the world blurred, turned red, and faded away.

\- - -

He woke up in the forest to the glow of torches in the distance, his cloak over his body like a blanket, his crown over his chest like a badge.

For the first time, he smelled fresh air.

For the first time, the pressure was gone.

All evidence of the army had disappeared.

He propped himself up, and stopped. Felt his face. Looked at his hands.

His body was covered in fur. His head felt larger, mouth elongated into a snout. He opened his mouth, his tongue feeling his fangs.

Beside him lay a blood covered sword. His tunic was soaked in blood, and yet he was uninjured.

Slowly, he came to his feet — hooves — as a light came closer. The world was too loud, and yet he could hear the steps come as clearly as if it were right next to him.

The man who came out of the shadows of the trees. For a horrifying moment, the face felt familiar, the name escaping him. Then, he remembered.

“Thank the gods.” He whispered to his brother, relief flooding him. “You’re alive.”

He took a step forward, and then heard a click. A crossbow being drawn back. An arrow at his throat.

His brother’s eyes were hard. Recognition was lost in them.

“Back, beast.” His brother hissed, and his heart shattered. Swallowed by a pit that grew in his chest. “Back! If you value your life.”

“...Brother?” He asked weakly. He almost begged. “Brother please.”

_Kill him._

“The beast be mad.” His brother chuckled darkly. “A brother I have not. A brother I never had.”

_Kill him. Trade your blood for his._

The voice of the god in his head echoed, dominating his thoughts. He shook it away with his welling tears.

“That is not true.” He took a step forward. “I was your elder. You were my younger.”

“And yet my father is dead at your hands?” The other spat, and he flinched back. “And yet I am king, with no thing between me and the throne? Well…” His brother looked him once over. “No man.”

“Brother.” He took another step. “Brother you must believe me—”

BANG

Pain erupted from his chest, and he doubled over, as another click sounded above him. His vision went red.

_Kill him!_

NO!

“I am to put you out of your misery.” His blood, his childhood friend said with only malice in his voice. “I am to burn your head on a pier. Prove myself to the throne and to the people. As your king, I am to be your undoing, _blade beast_.”

Before the second shot even had a chance to fire, he pushed the man over with the last of his remaining strength, fighting his instinct to reach for his blade.

The false king lay unconscious on the ground. The beast stood, pulling the arrow out with a grunt, panic climbing in his throat.

 _More are coming. You must fight!_ The god’s voice whispered, a temptress in his ear.

NO!

He scrambled to gather the last of his remaining possessions — the cloak for his back, the crown on his head, the cursed sword — and looked back.

“May you live long and prosper, my king.” The monster said to his brother, the last words they would ever share, before he ran into the forest. Ran into the deep dark.


End file.
